Discursus
by tanyart
Summary: Teamwork and flirting at its finest. Only not really, no. Altair/Malik


All the scrolls had been knocked from Malik's arm, which was neither the fault of Altair nor his own, but walking through Jerusalem's streets together in some semblance of civility was not yet something they were comfortable with. By that point in time, they were glad to take any excuse to rectify that. The impending argument was well overdue anyway, given how quiet their morning had been, and both Altair and Malik never did accomplish anything by halves. They immediately launched into an argument, trading jabs and sharp words and rude suggestions about who should be the one to pick up the scrolls.

They were well-versed in their specific brand of banter. More than once Altair had to turn away to hide his grin when Malik snapped something that would have sent any other person running away, red in the face with shame. And that, in turn, made Malik grin right back.

It would have never escalated to shouting in the middle of the marketplace, but Altair had made an exaggerated gesture with his arms, jostling a woman behind him; she had been balancing a jar on her head, and Altair's wayward arm caused the jar to shatter to pieces on the ground.

And, because Malik's life was never meant to be easy, it had spilled water all over his fallen maps.

He only had a second to appreciate that his papers had been soaked in oil before a gibbering madman sauntered between them without warning, tearing the wet parchment beneath his dirty feet as he wrung his hands. He looped around Malik and the woman twice, managing to leave a muddy footprint on every single map—to Malik's wordless consternation—and shoved Altair into a man carrying a box for good measure.

Malik was not sure what happened next, but somehow their two-man argument had turned into a four-person party of yelling and finger-pointing. Sensibility, on Malik's part, was lost the moment he found himself being shouted down by the crazed man, only to be joined by, of all people, the woman with the jar while Altair nearly punched the box carrier.

At some point the guards stepped in, hands on their swords, but otherwise trying to calmly break up the growing ruckus. At their warning shout, the jar woman and box carrier fell back, and even the madman quieted down. Meanwhile, Altair had brought up a past incident that had _nothing_to do with the argument they were having right now, and Malik was determined to correct Altair's line of thinking—so the guards were, in part, largely ignored until one of them laid a hand on Malik's shoulder and another on Altair back.

They both spun around.

"If you have any sense at all, you will hold your tongue and know to mind your own business, guard."

"Say another word or touch me one more time, and my blade with make sure you do neither of those things again."

The guards stared, stunned that a one-armed dai and a dirt-covered scholar would dare threaten them. At Altair's growing smirk, they drew their swords, turning red-faced and furious.

Malik barely had enough time to draw the throwing knives from his belt, but within seconds each one had found its target, striking at the chests of three guards. It did little damage, but it gave enough for Altair to rush forward, taking advantage of the distraction with three matching swings of his dagger. Following after, Malik almost ran into him as Altair suddenly halted.

"Will you _run_?" Malik hissed, shoving him, but the other assassin only shifted his stance, defensive and unmoving.

More guards were coming from the conjoining streets, warned by the noise and the screams of several civilians.

"We can take them," Altair said, matter-of-fact, turning on his heel to stand with his back against Malik's.

"We are surrounded," Malik pointed out through gritted teeth, looking around for an escape route. He sighed in frustration when he found nothing but swords pointed his way. Behind him, he felt Altair shrug, relaxed and confident of the outcome.

"Do you want me to protect you?" Altair asked, much too sweetly to not be a challenge. Glancing over his shoulder, he bumped his free hand against Malik's wrist, insinuating that some hand-holding may be necessary in order for him to do this.

"If you ever feel the need to," Malik replied, pressing closer, putting them both of them in a rather awkward fighting disadvantage. Altair tensed, blinking as Malik slid his arm around Altair's waist, touching him with unnecessary intimacy. From the corner of his eye, he saw one of the guard's jaw unhinge, just as rattled as Altair by the display.

"Malik, what are you-"

"But," Malik continued, giving Altair's hip a squeeze before he closed a fist around the hilt of Altair's sheathed sword. With a disappointed click of his tongue, Malik kicked him out of the way to draw it, "You really _should_look after yourself first."

Altair stumbled, throwing up his arm to block a blow from a guard. The sound of metal rang between them and Altair grunted at the jarring sensation from using the hidden blade. After stabbing the offending guard with his dagger, he whirled around, knowing that his right side was open. Caught unaware, he tripped yet again over a prone and bleeding body that had not been there moments ago.

"What are you doing, Altair?" Malik chided, a few paces away, holding Altair's sword, the tip dripping with blood. "I thought you were going to protect m-"

Rather than face more of the guards, Altair snarled and tackled Malik to the ground, confusing not only Malik, but their attackers as well. Straddling the dai, he pried the blade from Malik's grip, using his momentum to purposefully elbow one of the guards who attempted to approach.

"Use your own weapons!" he snapped, cutting off as Malik yanked him down to avoid the swinging arc of a sword, flying just over his head. He buried his face into Malik's warm neck, wresting with the urge to swipe his tongue over the perspiring skin. Never one to linger over tempting decisions, he bit into it instead, resentful of the knee that was digging into his stomach.

Malik cursed. "Get off!"

Smug, Altair rolled to the side, the movement surprisingly easy. He had his sword back, which he used to fend off two guards. It wasn't until he was properly on his feet that he realized the lightness of his belt. Reaching around, he frantically patted his back and found that his bandolier of knives was missing.

Malik was scrambling away, the array of tiny blades draped over his shoulder. He threw the knives with great accuracy, but with blatant disregard of the effort it took to acquire the entire set—mainly stealing from the city's thugs, but the point remained that it really wasn't _his_weapons to squander. Kicking and dodging his way to the dai, Altair succeeded in killing one more guard before he was within speaking distance.

"Stop using my knives," he yelled, startling the man Malik was fighting by grabbing on to the poor guard and shoving him aside. Without further comment, he reversed the grip of his sword, purposefully ramming in into Malik's face. "You can have my sword, give back my knives!"

"Keep your sword, I do not want it anymore," Malik said, avoiding the full force of the blow by using a throwing knife to block it. The pommel of the sword rested against his cheek, and he turned his head, lips ghosting over the roughened knuckles of Altair's fingers.

"_Ya ilahi_," choked a guard, eyes wide and staring.

Altair punched him.

"I _just_put my mouth on that." Malik frowned, delivering a kick to the same guard, knocking the man unconscious.

There were no more conscious enemies in the market square, though the distant shouts of more to come echoed off the walls of the surrounding buildings. Altair sheathed his sword and put away his dagger, looking over Malik with a critical eye.

"I have other places where you can put your mouth," he suggested, only to be ignored.

"Archers. Duck," Malik replied curtly, gaze turning upwards as a shadow flitted over them from the rooftops.

Instinctively, Altair dropped to his knees, and Malik snorted. The dai looked down, smirking, and tapped the top of Altair's head. "Hm. Now this is a familiar sight," he commented over the sound of an eagle's cry, its shadow circling around them once more.

Altair scowled, looking over his shoulder to find that the rooftops were quite absent of archers. "Enjoy it. You will not be seeing it for a while," he growled, and ran his hand down Malik's thigh. At Malik's raised brow, he promptly stole the hidden dagger from his boot and darted away.

Sprinting into the smaller streets, Altair did not have to check to see if Malik was following him. For one thing, he had taken Malik's favorite dagger, and second—

Malik ran past him, hints of a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "This way," he said, leading Altair to an alleyway, made dark and shaded at midday by the hanging sheets and drying laundry. The space between the two buildings did not go deep enough to allow them to hide or past through without climbing, but he pushed Altair against the cool brick wall, leaning in while Altair shifted to better conform to the press of Malik's body. The dai robe draped over them both, blending into the darkness better that the bright whites of Altair's garb.

The yell of the guards grew louder and their footsteps pounded out in the main streets. Altair kept his gaze focused outside the alley, wary and alert, until he felt a sight tug at his cowl. Tilting his head to the side, he let Malik slip off the cloth, exposing his matted hair and flushed face.

"They will be looking for a hooded man," Malik said reasonably.

"So you say," Altair replied, keeping his tone neutral. He felt the rumble of Malik's quiet laugh against his chest, and settled more comfortably to wait out the rest of the search patrols.

(The guards eventually did find them in the alley, almost offended by the Assassins' poor hiding spot, but if they had interrupted anything, it was hardly noticeable at all.)


End file.
